


wandering child

by weatheredlaw



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 12:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14332788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: “I’m going to see you again. Aren’t I?”Tucker nods. “Yes. Yes you are going to see me again.”“Promise.”Not a question.Tucker leans in. “Promise,” he says.





	wandering child

**Author's Note:**

> i've been thinking about this for such a long time and i really hope you like it. i don't know ANYTHING about sangheili or halo so i have played incredibly fast and loose with all this.

In his first memory, he is being coaxed into the light. The scent is strange — his very first. Flashes of purple and red cross his vision. He tastes something on his teeth, licks at it until a voice says, “That’s right! That’s blood!”

 _Blood_ , he thinks. And then he is outside.

Hours pass slowly. The sun never sets here. It makes days and the passage of time confusing. More confusing now than it should be. There’s purple and blue, but they aren’t kind, they don’t touch him, they don’t lift him up and what he needs, what he feels like he wants _most_ is to be carried. His legs are so tired.

And then there’s a scent he knows. He makes a noise toward it, _reaches_ toward it. It doesn’t reach back, though. Not the first time. It keeps its distance. For a while, it keeps its distance.

Until it comes close, one morning, and leans down and picks him up.

“Yeah,” a voice says. “You’re definitely mine.”

“How can you _tell_? He’s got a...snout.”

“Nah, see? Those are Tucker family eyes, dude. That’s _genetics._ Right, Junior?”

“ _Junior?_ ”

“Yeah.” A little toss. He feels _joy_ without hesitation. “Hey, you like that!”

The other voice grows distant, but this one stays.

His sight is still just shapes and outlines. This one grows close, and one forehead knocks against another.

“I got you. Don’t worry.” A laugh. “I got you.”

 

* * *

 

Junior sees, now. And he answers to Junior. He runs now, too, and his father scrambles after him, out of breath and scooping him up, settling him on his shoulder.

“Dude it’s been two days, how are you so _heavy?_ ”

“He’s bound to grow pretty fast!” Doc says. Junior recognizes their names, tries to say them even if all that comes out is garbled nonsense.

His father seems to understand well enough. He knows when Junior is hungry, when he needs to rest, when he wants to play. His father is called Tucker, so Junior figures _he_ must be a sort of Tucker, too. It’s this thing they keep calling _family_ and Junior likes it. He makes a happy noise when he thinks about it, and that makes his father laugh, which he’s learning is a happy noise, too. He’s learning a lot of things, even though it hasn’t been very long.

Tucker lifts him up and he’s learning something about this, too. About one head touching the other.

A sign of love and affection.

 

* * *

 

Someone he doesn’t know _grabs him_ , and he’s hearing his father shouting from across the gulch, sees him barrelling toward him. Junior reaches out — maybe if he wants this bad enough, if he screams _loud enough_ , they’ll put him down, but —

Not lucky enough. Never quite lucky enough.

 

* * *

 

He’s very tired of being grabbed. No one is careful like his father was, or quiet when they should be. They shout in his ear and call him words he’s never heard, can’t quite place the meaning of. They feed him, but it’s strange. They leave him alone for hours and _hours_ at a time. Every so often a young woman will come by and tentatively pat him, like he’s an animal.

He is _not_ an animal.

“What’s your name?” she says. Very few words of his father’s language have stuck with him, but he knows the answer to this.

“Junior,” he says, and she flinches at the sound of his voice — rough and _alien_.

Which...is what he is. It’s what they _call_ him. The alien, they say.

“Feed the alien.”

“Don’t touch the alien.”

“Don’t look sideways at the alien.”

 _Not my name_ , he thinks, and says, “Junior,” over and over until someone bangs their fist against the glass window of the room he’s being kept in.

“ _Shut up!_ ”

They walk past and he narrows his eyes at the spot where they were. “Junior,” he says softly, and curls up to go to sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Junior! Junior!” Someone is banging on the window again and he doesn’t _like_ that. Didn’t they pick up on that yesterday when he threw his bed at it? When he threw his food at it? When he threw _himself_ at it so hard it cracked?

He opens one eye.

“Buddy!” His father bangs on the glass one more time, and Junior _launches_ himself at the door, scrabbling at it and shrieking, using words in a language that just comes to him —

“ _It’s you, it’s you, I waited and I asked for you_ —”

The door opens and Tucker leans down and scoops him up, holding him close. “You know I can’t understand that, but it sounds happy enough.”

They both pull back, then lean forward. One head against another.

A sign of love and affection.

“Father—” Junior tries, and Tucker grins.

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s me.”

Behind them, a voice is telling Tucker to leave the alien in the room, that they need to debrief him, but Tucker stands, clutching Junior in his arms.

“Not happening.”

“The alien—”

“He has a _fucking_ name, so start using it.”

The man in front of them sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It is not confirmed to us that you and the alien are actually—”

“This is my kid.”

“Yes, Private Tucker, I _understand_ that you believe that—”

“Nothing to believe,” Tucker says. “I was there. I know what he is to me.”

“ _Fine!_ You can...you can bring... _him._ ”

Tucker straightens with pride and looks down at Junior. “Small victories, kiddo.”

 

* * *

 

They send them to the desert, and it’s not a terrible place. Hot like the gulch, but with less shade. Junior’s learning English and they tell him the other language that he seems to know is Sangheili. That _he’s_ Sangheili.

“Not human,” he says.

Tucker shakes his head. “Not all the way. Half-human.”

“Not _really_ ,” a woman says. She’s been lingering around them since they got to the desert base. She’s a doctor, his father says, and she’s making sure he adjusts to the change in climate. “When I did his blood work—”

“He’s my kid,” Tucker says. “And last I checked, I was human. I think I know how to divide by two.” He jerks his head for Junior to follow him, and they walk out of the little medical caravan and into the sun. It’s not terrible here, just dry and hot. Junior doesn’t hate it, but he thinks it’d be worse if he was by himself.

In the evening, they pour over language books while they eat, trading words in English and Sangheili. Tucker struggles with the alien language, but he’s trying, and during the day he’ll say little things to Junior who responds in English. There are aliens here that they need to talk to, and they seem to respect Tucker for being Junior’s father. Junior looks up and they’re so _tall_ , so _big_. He looks at his hands and wonders if he’s going to grow into that.

One of them is older, and he’s called Krel. When Tucker needs to report in, or be debriefed on his own, Junior stays with him. They walk through the part of the desert they’re allowed to be in, and Junior tackles lizards and pulls off their tails. Krel laughs and calls him _quilllik_. “Little hunter,” he says in Sangheili, then in English.

“Hunter. _Quilllik_ ,” Junior repeats. He sees his father coming and points. “And him?”

“ _Domo_. Human.”

Junior shakes his head. “That’s my father,” he says. Krel just shrugs.

Tucker pulls off his helmet and wipes his brow. “Hey bud. You have fun?” He looks at the pile of lizard tails and laughs. “Guess so. _Ga riok_ ,” he says to Krel. “Thanks for watching him. You ready for dinner?”

Junior nods and takes his father’s hand, stomping through the sand back toward the base and the mess hall. He’s gotten used to the stares of the human soldiers by now. They like to watch and say things loudly, phrases his father tells him not to repeat.

“Alien fucker,” someone always says, when Tucker walks past. Tucker keeps his head up and loudly asks Junior to pick what he wants to eat. Junior wonders why they don’t eat in their quarters, alone. Why they don’t just ignore everyone.

He starts asking this in Sangheili, but Tucker’s grasp of the language is still loose, so he only picks up a few things as they sit. The soldiers around them move down a few seats, leaving them alone.

“Uh, okay, you said—”

Junior doesn’t have the patience to listen to his father translate for twenty minutes. “Why can’t we eat in our room?” Full sentences are a relatively new thing for him. Tucker’s expression brightens.

“Because,” he says. “We don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

“Ashamed.”

“Yeah. Like...we shouldn’t feel bad just because they don’t understand what we are.”

Junior nods. “What are we?”

“You’re my son,” Tucker says. “And I’m your dad.”

“Dad.” He wishes he knew the Sangheili for that.

“That’s right.” Tucker points to the broccoli on his plate. “ _Riok vochu?_ ”

Junior pulls a face and Tucker laughs, picking up some of it and putting it on his own tray.

 

* * *

 

His father doesn’t sleep a lot. They’re up before sunrise, to have breakfast before it gets too hot and walk the trail to the temple to speak with Krel and the others. But at night, his father sits up, reading a book from the miniscule library in the base, writing letters that he never sends, tossing and turning. Junior wakes up sometimes and Tucker’s trembling. He doesn’t go to him — this is the part of his father he isn’t supposed to see, he realizes that.

He’s supposed to see the part of Tucker that smiles whenever Junior looks at him, or laughs when he shows him the animals he’s caught or the trap Krel taught him to build.

Junior takes these things and he puts them away. His time with his father in the past has been fleeting. He has no idea what to expect from the future.

 

* * *

 

“ _You can’t take him_ —”

“Private Tucker—”

“This is _bullshit_ —”

“UNSC regulations have _changed_ —”

“That’s a lie. That’s a fucking _lie._ ” Tucker throws open the door of the CO’s office. “Come on, bud.”

“Private Tucker!” Their CO’s name is Rhoda and Junior knows Tucker doesn’t care for her, but this is because he has “problems with authority.” According to their superior officers. “The higher-ups feel that your son would be better served by receiving a _proper_ education—”

“He’s fine here.”

“He has a hand in both worlds,” she says. “Our relationship with the Sangheili is tentative, at best. Your son would make an excellent ambassador.”

Tucker is stopped at the end of the hall, clutching Junior’s hand, breathing heavy. He looks down at him, expression pained. Rhoda comes up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I know this isn’t easy to hear,” she says. “But you and I both know he shouldn’t be _working_ for the military. He’s a child, Lavernius.”

Tucker nods. “I know.”

“You’re his father. You should know what’s best for him. I know you’d rather not be parted, but...you know this has to be done.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I know that, too.” He pushes open the doors and he and Junior walk back to their quarters.

 

* * *

 

No one asks what Junior wants, and when he says this, Tucker sits him down.

“Look, here’s the truth about...all of this.” He sighs. “No one is going to ask you what you want. Not for a long time. I wish I could, but...I can’t. I can’t ask you what you want to do because, right now, you and I don’t have a lot of options. We can’t leave, and we can’t...well. All our other options kind of suck.”

“ _This_ sucks.”

“Yeah.” Tucker nods. “Everything about this sucks.”

“Where will I go?”

“I’m not sure. But I’m gonna find out, and I’m gonna call you all the time and we’ll write letters and we’ll...we’ll trade pictures.” And now he’s crying, and Junior’s crying and Tucker grabs him and holds him close. “I love you,” he says.

Junior knows this one. “ _Ei monerasha riok._ ”

Tucker laughs. “ _Ei monerasha riok._ ”

“...Dad?”

“Yeah, bud.”

“I’m going to see you again. Aren’t I?”

Tucker nods. “Yes. Yes you are going to see me again.”

“Promise.”

Not a question.

Tucker leans in. “Promise,” he says.

Forehead touches forehead.

A sign of love and affection.

 

* * *

 

They send him to a school on a colony, and put him in the care of a Sangheili named Sul. Sul is older than Krel, but talks more. He asks Junior how his day was, insisting he speak in Sangheili, but waiting patiently when he fumbles over the words and says things in English.

Sul is different, Junior figures this out right away. The other Sangheili he meets are gruffer, speak to him very little or not at all. His half-human heritage is not a secret. Every so often some of the younger officers he meets will call him _nishum_. When he asks Sul about it, his caretaker scowls and tells him to ignore them.

“You are special, _quilllik_.” He liked Junior’s story about Krel and hunting lizards in the desert. Junior likes the nickname.

On Tuesdays he calls Tucker, and they have a grainy, static-y video call for a few minutes before Tucker has to go.

“Everything okay, bud?” his father always asks.

Junior nods. “Everything’s okay.”

“ _Ei monerasha riok_ ,” Tucker says.

“I love you, too.”

 

* * *

 

He’s young when he comes to the colony. Young enough to not really mind being the only Sangheili child in his class. A few years there and he starts to feel like he really belongs, though he knows that isn’t true. He continues his video calls to his father, which keep him connected to him, despite the terrible distance. Junior feels, as long as he has this, it’s okay to be the only one. It’s okay.

One evening, Junior wakes to the sound of someone being let into their little prefab. The colony homes are nice, but the walls are paper thin. He hears everything.

“—saying someone _attacked_ the temple?”

“Killed all the human soldiers.”

“The others?”

“Most are alive, if they agreed not to fight back. Lost Krel—”

Sul sighs. “And the boy’s father?”

“He locked himself in the temple. He...possesses a key.”

“I didn’t know that.” Sul sits down. “ _Ei slee hwah._ ” Another Sangheili sits next to him. Junior recognizes her — Mrat, one of his language teachers.

“He won’t survive,” she says.

“What do we tell the boy, then?”

“That he’s dead, I suppose. It will be true in time.”

“He expects to speak with him tomorrow.”

Mrat nods. “Then let him try, and give it a few days. You can pretend—”

“I would rather not,” Sul snaps.

“Then go and wake him. Tell him his father is dead.”

Sul leans forward. “You have spent a long time with humans.”

Mrat shrugs. “I could say the same for you.” She stands. “Wait a few days. Please.”

“Alright.” He shows her to the door. “Thank you, for telling me.”

“Of course.”

Junior hears footsteps heading toward him after the door is locked and he rushes back to bed, pulling up his blanket and closing his eyes. Sul opens the door and looks in for a few moments, before giving a long sigh and closing the bedroom door behind him.

In the kitchen, there’s the sound of a glass settling on the counter, and a drink being poured.

 

* * *

 

Sul tells him his father is dead, but Junior knows the larger truth — that it’s not just _that._ That his father is _dying_ , locked in a temple surrounded by his enemies. He supposes he could expect more, that Tucker is resilient and might survive, but —

After a week, he mourns him properly. Sul leaves him alone. He misses a few days of school. He picks at his food. He sleeps too late.

Eventually, Sul opens the door and pulls up the blinds. “ _Benu kiya rethe._ Now,” he adds. “It’s a mess in here.”

Junior grumbles and gets out of bed, picking up his clothes and his books.

Sul makes him go for a run and when they get back they have breakfast.

“I’m sorry about your father,” he says. “But it’s time to get back to work.”

“I guess.”

“Your Sangheili is better. It sounds more natural. I have been meaning to tell you that.”

“Thanks.”

“Mrat thinks you should move up to the more advanced class, but it’s a class for human soldiers.”

Junior looks up. “That’s fine. I’ve grown up with human soldiers.”

“Yes,” Sul says. “I know that. She’s just worried they’ll...that they would—”

“Be cruel?”

Sul nods. “It’s a concern.”

“I’ve dealt with cruel humans before.” Junior finishes his breakfast. “My father said I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Your father was a good man.”

“Yes.”

“He’d be proud of you,” Sul says. “I’m sure.”

Junior looks up and nods. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

The advanced language class isn’t as bad as he thought it might be. He ignores the soldiers, who are largely just trying to keep up with Mrat’s quick-paced lessons. Junior outdoes all of them, earning the highest marks, and her praise.

In his other classes, things are harder. Math comes easy, and he isn’t terrible at writing or reading. But working with other students is difficult. He supposes he should have expected this — if their parents give him strange looks, it would only be natural that their children would, too.

They say things, too, though. It’s the worst kept secret on the colony that Junior’s father is dead, and some are less respectful than others. He starts sitting in the back, away from them.

And then one a girl comes right up to him.

“I’m Lucy,” she says. “And my dad is dead, too.”

Junior looks up. Until this moment, he has never understood the appeal of humans, largely because they’re rather ugly when they’re being cruel. But Lucy reaches out to shake his hand, and she’s smiling. It changes her entire face — the softness of it reminds him of Caboose, who he never got to know very well, but was always rather...soft. Incredibly kind.

He almost calls himself Junior — but stops. They call him by his father’s name in class, when they take roll, when they’re getting his attention. Sul calls him Quill, sometimes. Mrat calls him _Lavernius_ , which he knows his father didn’t like to be called either, so —

“I’m Tucker,” he says, and takes her hand in one of his.

She grins. “Welcome to the dead parents club.”

 

* * *

 

The Dead Parents Club has four members: Lucy, of course; then there’s Rudy, who sits by him in math class; Rachel, who is as good at being invisible as Junior _wishes_ he was; and Mike. Mike is their sort of de facto leader — both his parents died in the war and he lives with his Aunt Ruth. They make room for Junior in their little circle under the stairs and trade introductions.

Rudy has large glasses that slide down his nose every six seconds or so, and he’s incredibly interested in Junior’s parentage.

“Explain it to me again.” Junior sighs and does while Rudy takes notes. “ _Parasitic embryo_ ,” he repeats. “Fascinating.”

“Sorry to hear about your dad,” Mike says. “Is it true you’re in that advanced Sangheili language class?” Junior nods. “Wow. Must be kind of cool, hanging out with captains and stuff.”

Junior doesn’t mention that they frequently refer to him, a _child_ , as a freak on a regular basis and just says, “It’s different.”

When he goes home, he tells Sul about his new friends. Sul is less than impressed that they’re so blase about death, but he says it’s good he’s expanding his social circle. “ _Vochu groq_ ,” he adds, pointing at Junior’s plate. “We need to go meet with someone.”

Junior wolfs down his dinner and they walk across the compound toward the officer’s quarters. Inside he meets Neil, a nice gentleman who addresses him in Sangheili. Junior greets him in kind under Sul’s watchful gaze.

“I was so sorry to hear about your father—” Neil swipes at a large screen, and Junior catches a glimpse of his father’s military profile — and a photo. He flinches at the sight of it. Sul puts a hand on his shoulder. Neil doesn’t notice. “But I’m very glad you’re here with us. If it’d been just a few weeks later, we may have lost you, too.” He glances up. “Do you enjoy school, Lavernius?”

The name catches him off guard. “Uh, yes. I mean, yes, sir. I do.”

“That’s good. You have excellent marks. And your Sangheili is excellent.” He smiles. “You won’t really need school, once this year is finished. The rest of your training and education you’ll get from the soldiers at the embassy, and we’ll—”

Sul holds up a hand. “Commander. He...isn’t aware of the situation.”

Neil looks surprised. “Oh! Well—” He picks up a folder and hands it to Junior. “We’re going to be sending you to the Sangheili embassy this summer.”

“...Embassy—”

“Your unique heritage brings with it a lot of advantages, young man. I hope you understand that.”

Junior almost says, _Like what_ , but Sul’s hand squeezes his shoulder. “I certainly do, sir.”

“Once you’ve finished with school this year, we’ll send you to the embassy. They’ll be very happy to have you.”

“Sir...I don’t understand—”

Neil is already moving on, and he looks annoyed that he has to backtrack and explain. “It will be your job,” he says. “For the foreseeable future. You’ll be an ambassador between the UNSC and the Sangheili.” He continues. “Now, this is several months away, and you’ll finish school here first, of course. Complete your language course and everything, but after that, it’ll be straight to the embassy.” He prattles on for a bit until Sul insists that Junior needs to get home to rest before school in the morning.

They walk back across the compound in silence, until Sul says quietly, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“It’s fine.”

_No one is going to ask you what you want. Not for a long time._

When they get inside, Junior heads for his room. “Quill—”

“I’m tired, Sul. I’ll see you in the morning.” He shuts his door and leans against it, breathing heavy.

He gets into bed after a while and closes his eyes. He touches his forehead to the wall.

He shouldn’t be mad that his father broke his promise — it isn’t his fault, after all.

Doesn’t mean it isn’t fair, but it isn’t his fault.

 

* * *

 

He has a few months of school left, before he goes to the embassy. In the winter he tries out for the basketball team and gets it, which seems a little unfair considering he is beginning to tower over his classmates.

His friends show up to his games and cheer him on — he wants to tell them he’s leaving, but he’s not sure how to put that into words. Instead he just enjoys all this. It sort of feels like he’s... _normal_ , sometimes. Like he can fit in with everyone else.

It’s a false sense of security, and he shouldn’t be so quick to fall into it, but, he does.

His terrible, _terrible_ crush on Lucy is painfully obvious to most everyone but her. Even Sul notices and teases him about it sometimes. No one brings it up, and she doesn’t seem to notice that he sits beside her at lunch and eagerly listens to her otherwise boring stories about her mother’s most recent boyfriend, or their trip to the Cal Quadrant to go to the beach last summer.

She’s beautiful, and he wants her to be the person who knows that he has to leave, but he also needs her to be the person who can never know. At night he wonders if she likes him, too.

 

* * *

 

They agree to go as a group to the spring dance at the end of the school year. This is Junior’s last chance to tell Lucy how he feels, to tell her that he’s leaving. She’s already in the gym when he gets there with Rudy, and she’s the most stunning girl in the room. He feels confident, like his father, and he closes the distance between them, walks up to her as she’s telling Rachel something and says, “Do you want to dance with me?”

The little group around them grows very quiet, all eyes on her. He holds out his hand, hoping the expression on his face is hopeful and not like he’s going to be sick.

And then an amount of time passes that no longer makes the moment a _moment_ , but instead a situation. He is standing in front of her, hand hanging between them while Rudy scoots away with Rachel.

Lucy opens her mouth, and he feels that spark of hope again before —

“No,” she says. “I...No, Tucker.” And she steps back.

He looks down. “Uh. Right.” He lowers his hand. “Right, yeah.”

He can’t stay here. He has to go, he has to leave, he has to _run_ —

“Shouldn’t be surprised,” someone says.

“Like father like son, right?”

“Hey, Lavernius, is everyone in your family into aliens? Can’t just fuck your species?”

He brushes past them and runs out of the gym. When he gets home, Sul is reading in the living room, standing up and looking surprised.

“Back already? How was—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“ _Quilllik_ —”

“Don’t _call_ me that!” he shouts. “I’m not...I’m not _little._ ”

“...Junior—”

“And don’t call me that either. You’re not my father. You’re not my family. Tell them I’ll go to the embassy tomorrow. Tell them I’m done—”

Sul frowns. “Do not speak to me that way.”

Junior shrugs out of the stupid jacket he wore to the _stupid_ dance. “I hate this place. I hate everything about it.”

“Please—”

“I hate you, too,” he snarls, and goes to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

He realizes now that it doesn’t matter how much he has in common with someone. It will _never matter_ how much he has in common with any human. They will always be afraid. They will always be disgusted. They will always reject him.

Except his father.

But his father is the exception to everything, it would seem.

 

* * *

 

In the morning he gets up, grateful it’s the weekend. Sul is already awake and making breakfast. Junior owes him an apology, but the words are hard to get out. Sul sets his plate on the table and sits across from him, sipping coffee. It’s so distinctly _human_ that Junior laughs.

“Am I funny to you, now?”

“No,” he says. “Just...I’m sorry, Sul. I’m very sorry. I don’t hate you. And I don’t want to leave yet.”

Sul nods. “She rejected you, didn’t she?”

“... _Ow._ ”

“Avoiding the truth doesn’t help.” He leans forward. “You suspected she might.”

“I guess.” He pushes his food around. “It won’t be better at the embassy, will it? Here, I’m an alien. But there I’ll be human to them. Won’t I?”

“I don’t know, I can’t tell you what it will be like. All I can say is that things will be difficult. You will always be assured of that. Not because of what you are, but because you will always remember what it could have been like. Because, once, you had something very special, and you can never get that back.”

Junior blinks. “ _Wow._ That’s...thanks.”

“I don’t mean that to make you give up. I just mean...you were born lucky, because you were born to someone who loved you. And remembering that will always break your heart, but...it should also remind you that there is love in the universe. And you were just lucky enough to have it.”

Sul convinces him not to quit playing basketball, but he stops seeing Lucy and the rest of the Dead Parents Club. He also just...stops talking. Mrat’s class is the only one he enjoys, sitting in the front and diagramming sentences, answering her questions in perfect Sangheili. When he goes home, he speaks to Sul only in Sangheili. He even starts answering his teachers in it, which they do not appreciate.

“Stop that,” Sul says, when the third note from the principal comes home. “Stop antagonizing people.”

“I’m just being what they expect.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself. You think your father would have wanted this?”

Junior laughs. “You didn’t know my father, so I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that.” He _knows_ Tucker would have thought this was funny. But then, if Tucker were around, this wouldn’t be a problem. He’d have someone.

Of course, he _does_ have someone. As they get closer to Junior leaving, Sul grows a little frantic about spending time with him. He pushes a little, wants to go for longer runs, suggests he skip school sometimes, even lingers after basketball games to walk home with him.

But eventually, school ends. And Neil tells them that the transport to take Junior to the embassy will be there in two days. They spend the time packing and cooking and lingering in the house. Mrat comes over for dinner, expresses her joy that his Sangheili is so _good._

“You’ll be a natural at the embassy,” she says. Junior isn’t so sure, but it feels good to hear her say that. He’s going to miss this little house, despite everything he said the night of the dance. He’ll miss Mrat and her language classes, and he’ll miss the squeak of sneakers on the basketball court. He’ll miss his morning runs through the hills around the colony, and pushing the broccoli from his plate onto Sul’s.

And he’ll miss Sul, who walks with him to the transport ship.

“Do you remember the ballad of Kel ‘Darsam?”

“Of course.” It wasn’t taught in his school, but Krel used to sing it for him when Tucker had to go away for a few days at a time, and he’s repeated it for Sul many nights.

“He was born of a Sangheili mother, but had a god for a father. And look, we still sing his praises.”

“Kel ‘Darsam is a myth,” Junior says quietly. “He’s not—”

“He was half-Sangheili, just as you are. And it never made him less a hero.” Sul leans in. “Kel ‘Tucker.”

“What?”

“You need a name, for when you arrive at the embassy. A proper Sangheili name. It is my duty as your guardian to give it to you now. It doesn’t replace the name of your father, or the names you’ve carried in the past, but...it is my gift to you.”

Junior nods. “Alright. Thank you,” he says. “I’ll use it.”

And he leans forward, pressing his forehead to Sul’s.

A sign of love and affection.

Sul says in Sangheili, “Until we meet again in Urs’ everlasting light, Kel ‘Tucker.”

 

* * *

 

His arrival at the embassy marks a sort of coming of age. It is easier to _be_ here, to simply exist and walk and _breathe._ He looks like most everyone, and everyone, for the most part, ignores him. There’s nothing special about him, he doesn’t _look_ human, he has never possessed any human traits —

Though his father always insisted he had more human _eyes_ , and it’s true they are the same warm, brown color of Tucker’s, but no one really looks that close.

While his Sangheili on the colony and in Mrat’s class was excellent, it is just passable here, which is the only thing that marks him as not really _one of them._ He adopts a more silent form of conversation, which earns him a certain reputation. People know Kel ‘Tucker will keep a secret, that he can be trusted because he prefers to keep to himself.

His commander, Xyl, knows the truth, of course. That his first words were a mix of a language he was born knowing and human English. That his eyes are brown because his father is human. He tells him this over a meal in his office, and Junior expects to be handed off to someone else, maybe. That Xyl is ashamed or can’t be bothered to deal with him, but —

“I think it’s a singularly useful trait. It has no other purpose except to be of aid to us.”

“Oh. I’m...I’m glad you think that, sir.”

“Hiding it seems ridiculous. You’re to tell people if they ask,” Xyl says, shoveling food into his mouth.

“Are you—”

“That’s an order, Ambassador. Do you understand?”

Junior nods. “I do, sir.”

It doesn’t come up much in conversation. No one just walks up to him and says, “You wouldn’t happen to be half-human, would you?” But it’s pretty well known a few months in that he’s completely fluent in human English, and after they play host to a UNSC captain and Junior translates the Sangheili joke told by the ship’s CO into perfect English, everyone has questions. They pester him about it in the mess. “Your human English is so _good_ , Kel ‘Tucker. Where did you learn it?”

So he says: “My father is human,” and goes back to eating his dinner. They ask how it happened, of course, and he tells them. They ask if he _feels_ human, and he says no. They ask if he has any human organs, or human limbs, or a human brain —

“I have what I have,” he says.

One of the men, Coso, nods. “Typical Kel,” he says. “Keeping it brief.”

Another ambassador, Seia, leans forward. “Where does your human father live?” she asks.

Junior glances up. “He’s dead,” he says. “He died some years ago.”

“Oh.” Seia reaches forward and covers his hand with her own. “I’m very sorry, Kel.”

He looks at her, and realizes he does have different eyes. Seia’s are still kind, though, and he remembers looking up at Lucy and thinking that kindness could make humans beautiful.

It has the same effect in Sangheili.

 

* * *

 

It isn’t advised to get involved with your fellow ambassadors, but he falls for Seia pretty hard.

She speaks terrible human English, and it turns out her human language focus was French and about six other languages, which Junior is completely in the dark about. But she’s easy to spend time with, easy to be alone with, to even be silent with. He enjoys that.

It makes him think of his walks through the desert with his father, or Krel. Not the company, per se, but the _feeling_. The way silence can be companionable. How you can _learn_ things about someone in those moments.

(He learned that Krel liked to whistle. He learned that his father missed his friends.)

He learns that Seia likes to read terrible romance novels, brought in by a French Captain who she’s become good friends with. He learns that she prefers to be out of her armor, that she likes to call him Tucker, and even thinks his father’s nickname is endearing.

“ _Junior_ ,” she says. “It’s very sweet.”

He expected none of this, when they told him he’d be coming here. He expected ridicule, which he endures on occasion. _Nishum_ gets tossed around by a few soldiers who are trying to wear him down, Xyl says. A casual, _domo_ , for human, gets thrown his way in the mess. But that fades as time goes by. Seia thinks he should consider his status as part human a gift, and he is reminded of Sul.

“He loved you,” she says. “Didn’t he?”

And Junior thinks about Tucker’s smile, and the way he had to say goodbye, and their time in the desert. He nods, and Seia leans into his space and runs a hand over his head and shoulders.

“Then you’re lucky,” she says.

She tips her forehead against his.

A sign of love and affection.

 

* * *

 

Project Freelancer is a distant memory to him. His place in things is far away. Whether any of it was true or not, he doesn’t know. It doesn't come up. It doesn’t seem to matter. And if it doesn’t matter to anyone else, then he doesn’t let it concern him, either. Junior hears the the project has gone under, but he never reads about it. It happens in the middle of a very tentative round of negotiations, and he and Seia are translating their asses off, trying to get things to work

They barely get to their shared apartment with enough time to sleep and be up in the morning to do it all again, nevermind have the time to read the news.

So he doesn’t know his father was part of all that then, and he doesn’t know much about Chorus either, other than the fact that it’s a PR disaster, and a UNSC problem. That’s what they call those colonies that live on the fringes, that the humans can’t seem to get under control. They laugh about it in the mess and over drinks. Chorus is just someone else’s problem, it doesn’t have anything to do with them —

And then an unauthorized broadcast disrupts their systems, and Junior sees his father for the first time in _years._

It shakes him. He doesn’t even listen to the rest of the message. He goes home, shucking off his armor and pacing in the living room, running his hands over his head and trying to parse it all, trying to sort through the pieces.

Seia gets home later. “Xyl asked me to tell you he wants you in his office, first thing in the morning.”

“I expected that.”

“Kel—” She goes to him. “Tucker. _What happened?_ ”

“One of those men, in the transmission.” He goes to the console in their apartment, turns it on and replays the message. “Him,” he says, pausing the video. “That’s my father.”

“...Your father.”

“Yes.”

“So he...he’s on Chorus.”

“It seems so.”

She looks up. “You said he was dead.”

“They told me he was. They told me he was trapped in a temple, that he wasn’t going to survive. I believed it, because it made sense. But I always hoped that maybe...maybe they were wrong. Maybe we were all wrong.” He looks at her. “I wanted _so badly_ to be wrong.”

“Chorus is a mess,” Seia says gently.

“He’ll be fine.”

“What if he’s not?”

Junior shakes his head. “No,” he says. “He’s not alone. He’s going to be fine.”

In the morning, he goes to Xyl’s office and gets a lecture about abandoning his station, about professionalism and duty. It’s all canned, there’s no passion to it. Xyl sighs and leans forward.

“I understand that was your father.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Seems like that Hargrove character’s been taken care of. Lot of...what’s that human phrase?”

“Irons in the fire,” Junior says without thinking.

Xyl points. “That’s right. Anyway.” He pulls out a datapad. “It would appear the UNSC has told your father you went to college on a basketball scholarship.”

Junior frowns. “What?”

“I asked for information on him this morning. I thought you might want to know what he’s been doing since you were separated. Apparently they’ve been giving him false information.”

Junior takes the tablet and skims his father’s dossier. “Why would they do that?”

“So he doesn’t ask questions. Half of that is emails he sent to the UNSC at one point after he was picked up by the New Republic on Chorus. He wanted to know where you were, how you were doing. They sent him some photos of you from your time on the colony, told him you’d gone to a university. I suppose if they told him you were here, he could have contacted you.”

“Why wouldn’t they _want_ that?”

“You’re not useful to them if you’re fighting in some pointless civil war. Or dead,” Xyl adds. He takes back the datapad. “I’m assuming you’d like to see him, but the UNSC is currently en route to Chorus.”

“Blockade.”

“Something like that. Communication in and out is going to be impossible for a while. I can _try_ to get a message in, but that would require calling favors that, frankly, need to be held onto for a bit longer. Not that I don’t think your father is important, but for now, the situation on Chorus is stable. You’ll simply have to have some patience. Can you do that?”

Junior nods. It’s a _lie_ , but it’s also a necessity. He doesn’t have the pull to get a message to Chorus, let alone himself. He leaves Xyl’s office and tries to get some work done, but he’s distracted. He leaves early and goes home, taking off his armor and laying out in bed, staring at the ceiling, remembering his father’s words.

_No one is going to ask you what you want. Not for a long time._

It’s been a long time, he thinks. Shouldn’t someone start asking? Shouldn’t someone think about what _he_ wants, for once?

Hasn’t he been a plaything for the UNSC, for his own people, long enough?

This train of thought leads nowhere, of course. Nothing changes for a long while. He gets news that people who _look_ like his father and his friends are committing crimes around the galaxy, but he ignores it. Just more bullshit. He thinks idly that his entire _life_ has been composed of bullshit up until now. Maybe Sul told the truth, maybe Seia is something good. And maybe he does work he’s _good_ at, but — they told him his father was dead, no course correction. They told his father he was some happy, eager university student, no hesitations.

Bullshit, he thinks. Total fucking bullshit.

The _Interstellar Daily_ is largely considered trash around the embassy, but when Dylan Andrews breaks her story about the Blues and Reds, everyone is crammed around a handful of screens. Someone shouts over the din, “ _Tucker, I think one of these guys is your dad!_ ”

“I know,” he says, hunched over his desk, pretending this isn’t happening. He’s trying to finish his paperwork when Xyl drops something on his desk. “I’d really like to finish one request at a time, sir.”

“Not a request,” Xyl says. “Permission for you to travel to Chorus.”

Junior looks up. Xyl lifts the documents and he takes him. “Are you serious?”

“I am.”

Junior stands. “When can I leave?”

“Tomorrow. I tried to get it for today, but I figured you might want to sit on this for a few hours.” Junior nods and settles back at his desk as Xyl walks off. Seia comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you going?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.” He stands again. “You could come with me, we could—”

“No.” She reaches up and strokes a finger down one of his mandibles. “You go. As long as you promise to come back,” she adds. “Or let me know if you’re going off on some... _epic quest._ ” She shakes her head. “I’ve read your father’s dossier. I know what kind of trouble he gets up to.”

Junior laughs and wraps his arms around her, pulling her close.

 

* * *

 

His transport ship to Chorus gets caught in the blockade for two days, and he has to answer a slew of questions from the UNSC who don’t have much on him beyond the fact that he’s apparently considered an “anomaly” by most of the scientific data they have on him. Which is apparently a lot. Eventually they let him go. Junior’s calls ahead to Chorus go unanswered for almost an hour, before an exhausted young woman finally picks up.

“ _Sorry, it’s been hell here. How can I connect you?_ ”

“I’m looking for Captain Tucker.”

“ _Right, you and a hundred other folks._ ”

“Could you...could you tell him it’s his son?”

“... _Okay. Uh, I’m assuming he’ll know what this is in reference to?_ ”

Junior sighs. “Yes,” he says thinly, and ends the call.

When the ship is finally docked, he’s not sure what to expect. Certainly not the president of Chorus, who looks him up and down not like he’s a science experiment, but rather the source of her next migraine. Junior privately suspects he might be.

“So Tucker wasn’t lying,” is the first thing she says to him.

“...Excuse me?”

“He said he had a son. I thought...well. I wasn’t sure what to think. It didn’t seem physically possible.”

Junior nods. “I get that a lot.”

Kimball sighs and gestures for him to follow her. “Your timing couldn’t be better. Everyone’s just returned, but they’re resting. I’ve had a room prepared for you, I hope that wasn’t presumptuous.”

“No, ma’am. I’ve been given leave from the Embassy for a short while.” Junior keeps close to her. Her soldiers are obviously put off by him, their hands going for their weapons, helmets following his every move.

Kimball says quietly, “They were told you’d be here. That doesn’t mean you don’t make them nervous.”

“I’m used to making people nervous, ma’am.”

She hums. “I’m sure.” They reach two double doors and she turns to him. “I need to return to my office. _This_ ,” she says, “is Lieutenant Palomo. He’s graciously volunteered to show you to your quarters and answer any questions you might have.”

Palomo nods vigorously, helmet jostling back and forth. Kimball sighs and disappears through the doors. Palomo turns to Junior. “It’s an honor, sir. I wasn’t entirely sure if I believed Captain Tucker when he said he had an alien son, but I believe it now.” He leans in close. “You have his eyes,” he says, and leads Junior down another hall.

Palomo talks at length about his experience with Tucker and the other captains. None of this makes any sense to Junior, who spent months ignoring everything that had to do with Chorus. Palomo is passionate, a true patriot it would seem. Junior admires this. Eventually Palomo stops outside a room. “This one’s yours. The other captains are a few wings down. Everyone has dinner in the mess over there.”

“I appreciate it, Lieutenant.”

“Not a problem, sir.” Palomo salutes and heads down the hall, leaving Junior alone.

The room is small, reminding him of their quarters at the desert base. That feels so _far away_ as he sits on the edge of the bed and closes his eyes. If he thinks hard enough he can remember sand in his boots and grasping at the tails of lizards. He can remember Krel’s low rumble of a laugh and his father calling for him over the dunes.

He’s spent so much time over the years idealizing that time, and only now does he realize what dangerous days those where. That they were both so close to death. The winding nature of his life suddenly strikes him as protective. And he knows the UNSC wasn’t trying to, he knows they didn’t _care_ , but — they saved his life. Every choice that was ever made for him has gotten him here, to _this_ place.

To a choice he gets to make.

He could leave now, he realizes. Kimball hasn’t said anything. He doesn’t think Tucker knows he’s here. He could go back and keep the memory of his father as a towering figure with a young face and endless bravado. He doesn’t have to confront the most recent version of him, doesn’t have to reveal what he is.

He could live forever in a memory, and it’d be a _good one_ , Junior thinks.

Standing, he shakes off the idea.

No. He has to know the man his father is _now_. They deserve at least that from one another.

The mess is empty when he arrives, so he sits at a table and ignores the whispers from the men and women working in the kitchen. It’s been years since he’s heard it, not since his days on the colony with Sul, but, they whisper it, and it carries.

_Alien._

He glances at them, and they scatter, exposed. What’s the point in being the only alien on a human planet if he doesn’t get to scare the shit out of a few people?

The room slowly starts to fill, but the Chorus soldiers don’t approach. Not until Palomo, who gets a tray and sits right down next to him.

“I hope you like your room, sir.”

“I do, very much. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Palomo has a scar running down the length of his face which should make him look grizzled, but it doesn’t seem to diminish his enthusiasm. Eventually a few others come over — Jensen, Smith, Bitters and Matthews, he learns, who introduce themselves in turn.

Jensen says carefully, “The captains should be—” and then stops. Junior follows her gaze.

He never knew the red soldiers, but Tucker told him stories and he knows them each by sight. They seem to know _him_ right away, too, pulling on sleeves and getting Caboose’s attention. Caboose looks wildly about the room and Junior hears Grif say, “ _The only fucking alien, Caboose_ —” before Caboose books it toward him, skidding to a stop by the table.

Junior stands, and they stare at one another for a moment.

Caboose finally grins and says, “Hi, Junior,” before throwing his arms around him.

 

* * *

 

Caboose leads him through the winding streets of Chorus to the hospital. Tucker, he explains, is with their friend Wash.

“He got shot in the neck.”

“That sounds serious.”

“Oh, it’s okay. Wash gets shot all the time, he’ll be fine.” Caboose doesn’t seem to be aware that people are literally walking into traffic to avoid coming near them, but Junior figures if it doesn’t bother Caboose, then it doesn’t bother him.

Inside, Caboose navigates the different halls and finally stops. He turns to Junior.

“He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I think you should just go in.” Caboose reaches out and puts a hand on Junior’s arm. “I think he’s really going to be happy to see you,” he says. “He talks about you all the time.”

Junior nods and starts heading down the hall. Caboose stays where he left him, and eventually Junior hears him get back on the elevator. Junior wonders if maybe he’s been left on the wrong floor, and panic floods his senses for a moment until —

Until he sees him.

Tucker is curled up in a chair on one side of a bed, a woman with a shock of red hair on the other. He’s asleep, but she isn’t, instead flipping through a datapad and glancing up at the man and all his tubes. They all look exhausted.

The woman glances toward him, then does a quick double-take. She scrambles out of her chair and it scrapes loudly across the floor. The man in the bed doesn’t stir, but Tucker — Tucker is wide awake, swearing at her, and throwing his hands in the air. Junior can’t hear much beyond muffled noises behind the thick pane of glass, but the woman points, and Tucker looks.

He says, “Junior?” and stands, going to the door and pressing the button to slide it open. The scent of blood and antiseptic spills out. Junior stays very still.

If this is a dream, he reasons, any movement could shatter it all.

“Junior,” Tucker says again, and reaches out to touch his face.

“Hi, dad.”

Tucker reaches out with both hands now, and the helmet of Junior’s armor comes off, revealing his face and head. “Junior, Junior, Junior—”

They grasp each other, and Junior pulls his father in, crushing him against his chest.

“ _Buddy_ —”

“Sorry, _sorry_ —” Junior lets go, and Tucker pulls him into the room, closing the door behind him. They stand there, each taking the other in, until the woman says, “Uh, should I go?”

“This is my son,” Tucker says. He looks at her. “This is Junior.”

She nods. “I can see that.” She comes over and extends her hand. “Carolina,” she says.

Junior returns the gesture. “Freelancer.”

Carolina freezes. “Right—”

“Sorry,” Junior says quickly. “That’s not the way I meant it, really. _Fruqo’t_ ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I just mean...I just—”

“The Project left its mark on us all,” she says, and gives his hand a squeeze. “I’ll leave you two alone for a while. Call me if he wakes up.”

Tucker nods and watches her go. A minute later, the windows grow tinted. “She’s good people,” Tucker says. “I promise.”

“I believe you.”

They sit down together and Tucker leans forward.

“Tell me everything,” he says. “If you’re here...it means things are different than I thought, which, hey, no fuckin’ surprise where the UNSC’s concerned.” He grins and Junior is glad to see he’s just a little older, maybe a little bit wiser — but definitely still a pain in the ass.

“Alright.” Junior removes some of the more cumbersome pieces of his armor and gets comfortable.

“Don’t leave anything out,” Tucker adds. “I want to hear everything.”

“Everything?”

“Absolutely.”

Junior laughs. “Okay,” he says. “Everything it is.”

In the middle of it all, Tucker has him stop.

“It’s just a lot,” he says, laughing. “Dude, you’ve been busy.”

“Yeah. I’ve just...been waiting for someone to ask me what I want.”

Tucker raises a brow. “You ever get that?”

“Not for a while.” Junior bows his head and Tucker reaches up, putting a hand on his neck and pulling him forward.

One forehead touches another, and Junior smiles about the only real truth he’s ever understood, in a language he has never had to try and understand. Forehead against forehead—

A sign of love and affection.


End file.
